


pas de deux

by pageleaf



Series: married rivals! [5]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Anxiety, Cuddling & Snuggling, Fluff, Gen, M/M, POV Outsider, Post-Series, Public Display of Affection
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-23
Updated: 2017-03-23
Packaged: 2018-10-09 12:53:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,605
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10412571
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pageleaf/pseuds/pageleaf
Summary: Five times Viktor and Yuuri were grossly affectionate and in love in public, and one time they saved it for private.





	

**Author's Note:**

> first of all i am. so, so sorry this update took so long. i just had SO MANY OTHER IDEAS and then also schools /o\ i hope it's worth the wait!!!
> 
> second: i have been so incredibly happy with the response to this series. i worried that writing porn and then following it up immediately with 3 gen fics would be not fun for readers, but i was so pleasantly surprised!! thank you for your comments and recs and kudos and bookmarks; i treasure them all
> 
> this fic bridges the chronological gap between nationals and worlds (the worlds fic is next up probably) and also has more outsider pov!! also, Evgenia (Mila's gf) is my interpretation of the lady skater we see Mila watching Georgi's Cup of China performance with in ep 6

i.

"Cut that out!" Yuri groans when he enters the rink to see Viktor leaning over the boards to kiss Yuuri.

"We're just _kissing_ , Yurio!" Viktor says, pulling away—but not by much, Yuri grouses—from his husband. "Can't a man kiss the love of his life?"

Yuri scowls, stomping away to put on his skates. Yakov, who's been attempting to discuss Yuuri's free skate with him for the past three minutes, can sympathize.

"Vitya," Yuuri reprimands—though how much of a reprimand can it be, said through such a wide smile?

"What?" Viktor asks, kissing the corner of his mouth. Yuuri laughs and turns his head away, and Viktor kisses his jaw as well.

Yakov clears his throat pointedly, and Yuuri freezes, looking at him with wide-eyed horror.

"Oh god," he says, "I'm so sorry, Coach, I got—distracted— _Viktor_."

"I can see that," Yakov says dryly, as Yuuri pushes a pouting Viktor away from him.

"Yakov," Viktor whines, in Russian, "you're such a spoilsport."

"Be quiet and let the adults speak," Yakov snaps back, and Viktor sticks his tongue out at him.

Yuuri glares at him and says, "Let me talk to Yakov in peace, Viktor."

Viktor, to Yakov's wonder, goes.

"Sorry about that, Coach," Yuuri says, wincing.

Maybe it's residual awe at how polite he is (Yakov hasn't had a respectful skater for the past twenty years. Lilia says it's his own fault; Yakov blames the water) but Yakov can't find it in himself to be irritated.

"It's fine," he says. "Now, about that quad flip..."

 

ii.

"They should be here by now," Viktor whines despondently, and Evgenia rolls her eyes.

"Vitya," she says, "they're literally five minutes late. Calm down, get another coffee."

Viktor pouts and pushes away his empty mug, and Mila and Evgenia trade a commiserating look. He's been like this for the past month, turning into a sad, pale flower without sun whenever he has to spend more than a few hours without 'his Yuuri'; it's both sweet and disgusting.

Mila sighs. "Viktor, you were in the middle of saying something, before, about the man over there, in red—" She gestures to the table in the corner of the cafe. "What do you think about him?"

Viktor props his head up on his chin and huffs out a breath. "Well," he says. "With that awful jacket, he looks like a math professor. But no papers or computer, so he's not here for work, and he looks...shifty. Ooh!" He perks up slightly, and next to Mila, Evgenia stifles a laugh. "I wonder if he's here to meet a _student_. How scandalous—oh!"

He sits up, spine snapping straight, when the entrance swings open, letting in a gust of cold air. "Sorry we're late!" Yuuri says, flustered, as he slides into the booth next to Viktor. On the other side, Mila squishes in closer to Evgenia to make room for Yuri. "Yurio wanted a poster."

Yuri—already red from the cold—flushes a little redder. "Only to prove to Lilia that I actually went to see the stupid thing." He scowls. "I hated it, by the way."

"He cried," Georgi says conspiratorially, and Yuri squawks, punching him in the shoulder.

Mila snorts into her coffee.

"It's fine!" Viktor says cheerfully. "Actually, you're right on time, we were just finishing up. Gosha," he directs Georgi's way, "since it's your turn, have you decided where you want to eat?"

"I thought maybe that place downtown, with the drinks that..." Georgi starts, and Mila tunes him out.

"Yuuri," she says, while Viktor and Evgenia chat with Georgi. Yuuri shifts to look at her. "Where are your gloves?"

Yuuri freezes, wide-eyed, in the middle of rubbing his cold dry palms together.

Viktor's head jerks around, in a way that would be comical if it weren't...actually, no, it's hilarious. "Yuuri!" he reproaches.

Yuuri winces, sheepish. "I left them at home?"

"It's freezing outside!" Viktor says, horrified, before grabbing Yuuri's hands between his own.

"Viktor—" Yuuri says, embarrassed but clearly also charmed, pulling his hands away half-heartedly.

"Shut up," Viktor says, and blows warm air on Yuuri's hands before kissing the reddened knuckles.

When Mila looks at Yuri on her left, he's making silent gagging motions. Across the table, Georgi leans his chin on his hand and sighs wistfully.

Mila looks at Evgenia, on her right, and the two of them burst into laughter.

 

iii.

During his break, Yuuri pulls up twitter and scrolls idly through his timeline. About twenty tweets in, his finger stalls over Phichit's icon.

Apparently, his friend is working on adding another quad to his repertoire.

"Yuuuuri," Viktor says, arms sneaking around Yuuri's middle. Yuuri smiles—he's stopped getting startled by Viktor's surprise cuddling. "What are you looking at?"

"Phichit-kun posted a video from practice!" Yuuri responds, delighted. "Look—"

"Ooooh," Viktor says appreciatively. "Nice elevation." He's silent for a moment, and when Yuuri turns in his arms to look, his expression is thoughtful. "Hmm."

"What?"

Viktor's face turns mischievous. "Let's go show Yurio."

He corners Yuri and drags him over to the stands, where the two of them sit and hunch over the phone screen together. Mila skates over to the boards languidly after a second and nudges Yuuri. "What are they looking at?"

"Checking out the competition," Yuuri says, laughing at the way Yuri's face twists with a mix of admiration and fury. He can hear the faint strains of "Terra Incognita"—apparently they've moved on to Phichit's other videos as well.

"Yuuri, come look at this!" Viktor says, smiling wide.

Yuuri shrugs at Mila and they step off the ice, hobbling over to the stands. Mila collapses into the seat behind Yuri with a sigh—Yakov had her perfecting her hardest jump—and leans over his shoulder. "So?"

When Yuuri gets within reach, Viktor yanks him in by the hips and pulls him onto his lap.

"Viktor!" Yuuri yelps, startled.

"What?" Viktor says innocently, holding tight to his waist. "Now you can see better."

"Stop being gross and look at this step sequence," Yuri demands, and Yuuri laughs despite himself.

"Which one?" he asks, leaning in.

Halfway through the second replay, Yuuri feels Viktor press his forehead to the middle of his back. In response, he places his hands over Viktor's around his waist and interlaces their fingers.

Viktor lets out a happy sigh, and Yuuri smiles.

 

iv.

Yuri is leaving.

"You're not leaving, sit the fuck down," Mila snaps.

Yuri scowls, still standing, hand hovering over his jacket.

"It's Zhenya's birthday, Yuri," Viktor says, pulling away from his husband's arms long enough to shoot him a sad, disappointed look. Never mind that his mushy romantic nonsense was _exactly why_ Yuri was leaving.

"My birthday," Evgenia repeats tragically, wilting into Mila's chest. "We haven't even ordered food yet."

Goddamnit. "Ugh, fine." Yuri sits.

The waitress clears her throat. "If you all are ready, may I take your order?"

Yuuri still doesn't know enough Russian, so Viktor confers with him for a second before ordering for him, the rest of them following after.

Their appetizers come after ten minutes, and immediately, Viktor takes a piece of fish in a fork and holds it up to Yuuri's mouth.

Yuuri doesn't even look embarrassed as he takes the bite neatly. "It's good!"

Mila looks at Evgenia and pouts. "How come you never feed me, lyubimaya?"

Yuri groans, loudly, and pulls his phone out. Maybe if he texts Otabek he won't have to pay attention to all the gross couples around him.

 

v.

At the European championship, Viktor falls on two of his jumps, but because he's Viktor Nikiforov, he still takes gold.

"Hoooo," he says in a long rush of air after the medal ceremony, "I was starting to get worried, there!"

Georgi smiles ruefully, bronze medal cold against his chest—and then laughs when Yuri's scowl verges on apoplectic. Of course Georgi's disappointed, but at least he's somewhat used to this. Yuri, on the other hand, had fully expected to win, and instead, hadn't even placed.

"I hate you so fucking much," Yuri says, and Viktor turns his sparkliest grin on him.

"Yura!" he exclaims. "Aren't you happy to see your mentor, your idol, reclaim his title? Don't you feel so _motivated_ —"

"Shut _up_ you shitty old man!"

Viktor's grin grows wider and sparklier and he opens his mouth to say something undoubtedly even more inflammatory, only to be cut off by—

"Viktor!"

—Yuuri, running down the stairs from the stands and then skidding down the hallway toward them.

"Ugh," Yuri says disgustedly in an undertone. "If he isn't careful, he's going to fall."

Georgi stifles a laugh.

"Yuuri—" Viktor begins, wide-eyed like he'd _forgotten_ , even as his arms come up to catch his husband.

Yuuri propels himself into Viktor, throwing his arms around his neck, and Georgi finds himself averting his eyes. Watching them is like staring at the sun.

"Viktor, I'm so proud of you," Yuuri says, before kissing Viktor hard, like he's forgotten anyone else is watching.

Viktor looks dazed when he pulls back, blushing, his hair and costume very slightly mussed. His earlier bravado is completely, utterly gone.

Yuri chokes and then starts cackling with amusement. Georgi only lasts a couple moments before joining in, until the two of them are leaning against each other, overwhelmed with hilarity.

"What?" Viktor says huffily, and they laugh harder.

"You look—you look so—" Dumbfounded, stunned, like someone's whacked him in the forehead with the heavy medal around his neck. Georgi can't get the words out, he's laughing too hard.

"You look ridiculous," Yuri gasps, wiping tears from his eyes.

Yuuri looks like he's starting to get self-conscious, flushing red and removing his hands from Viktor's hair.

Viktor scowls and holds him tighter so he can't pull away.

"Vitya," Yuuri says softly, "you have to go do press."

Viktor looks at him in dismay, then carefully reaches a hand to his hair.

"Oh no," Yuuri says, mortified, trying to help him smooth it down, and Georgi and Yuri dissolve into laughter again.

 

They somehow manage to get Viktor looking presentable again, although not before Mila and Evgenia see him and laugh at him too, and unfortunately not before Yakov finds him and starts yelling.

But at least he looks put-together by the time the press corners him.

"Viktor!" one of the reporters from Sport-Express says. "How does it feel to be back on top?"

The Viktor Nikiforov of the past might have grinned and said something like "'Back'? Did I leave?" (he had actually said that once, at twenty-one, and Georgi still remembers the mixture of fury and reluctant pride on Yakov's face). This time, Viktor smiles and just says, "It feels good. Though I still have to face some of my fiercest competitors, so I wouldn't say 'on top' just yet." He winks. "Wouldn't want to jinx it, right?"

The press laughs amiably, and Georgi rolls his eyes affectionately.

"Still has them eating out of his palm," a voice says from Georgi's left, and he turns to see Christophe, hands in his pockets and a fond look on his face.

Georgi nods at him. "Your free skate was very good."

"Not good enough," Chris sighs mournfully, though the silver around his neck says otherwise. "I cried during yours," he adds, and Georgi laughs.

"You're a liar," he says, elbowing Chris in the side and Chris chuckles.

"He looked good out there," he adds, and Georgi turns back to look at Viktor, confident as always, and truly happy for the first time in a while.

He smiles wistfully, miming wiping a tear from his eye. "The power of love."

Chris laughs, briefly, but then his laughter stalls out. "Yeah."

When they tune back in, the guy from Eurosport is asking, "What are you most anticipating at Worlds?"

Viktor's eyes gleam, and next to Georgi, Chris laugh-groans, "Oh now they've done it."

"I'm very excited to see Yuuri Katsuki skate," Viktor begins, his eager tone that of someone about to type _THREAD (1/300)_.

"Oh god," Yuuri says from behind Georgi, where he'd been chatting with Sara Crispino. "Someone stop him, please."

"Never," Chris says with growing delight.

"He's been unstoppable since the GPF," Viktor continues, "and as his coach—"

Georgi can _see_ every reporter on the room blink and think _he's still doing that?_.

"—as his coach, I can't wait to see him make me proud."

"And as his competitor?" the Eurosport guy asks.

"Stop encouraging him," Yuuri hisses, and Chris's shoulders quietly shake with laughter.

"As his competitor," Viktor repeats with a shark-like grin. "As his competitor, of course I want to win."

The room goes quiet. A couple reporters look around and spot Yuuri looking like they're wondering whether they can ask him for a response.

Yuuri's face is serious and determined. Chris whistles, low, and Georgi says, "Vitya's in for it now."

"In more ways than one, I'd imagine," Chris says knowingly. Once Georgi catches his meaning, he flushes.

Of course, then Viktor ruins the tension by saying, "Ask me what excites me most about him! No, no wait, I'll just tell you—he's been working on improving his quad flip, which of course makes me unbearably proud, but really it's his triple axel that—"

"Just murder me," Yuuri groans, hands covering his face, but Georgi can see the hints of a smile peeking through.

 

At Four Continents, Yuuri places first, and gets the same question: "What are you most anticipating at Worlds?"

Yuuri's just come off the ice from his free skate, and he's still flushed and sweating, but he gets a little bit redder at the question. He smiles faintly, ducking his head and scratching the back of his neck.

In the corner of the locker room, Georgi and the rest of Yakov's skaters are waiting, watching. Viktor just finished his own press, and returned in time to hear the reporter ask.

"Well," Yuuri says. "It's been a long-time dream to compete on the same level as my idol."

"You're referring to your coach, Viktor Nikiforov?"

"My husband," Yuuri says, not a correction but an addition.

Viktor makes a small sound that Yuri would probably ungraciously call a squeak. Georgi pokes him in the side.

"Katsuki-san," the reporter says, "you have competed against him many times before. Why is this time different?"

He has; Grand Prix competitors multiple times, every World Championship for the past five years—except the year Yuuri had failed to qualify. Georgi had been there for almost all of them, too.

"It just is," Yuuri says opaquely, and Georgi hears Viktor sigh dreamily.

He thinks about all the times Viktor made fun of him for being a hopeless romantic. The way he and Mila would snark in the comments on Georgi's instagram posts with Anya and his other lovers.

Thinks further back, to that time when Viktor said, uncharacteristically serious, "I don't understand how you can pour so much of yourself into someone else." They'd been nineteen, and Viktor was still in love with the idea of being independent, unfettered by sentiment. He'd teased Georgi relentlessly for not being the same. And now, look what he's become.

In the middle of the locker room, Georgi starts to laugh.

 

+i.

It could be any number of things that triggers it, or it could be all of them, or it could be nothing at all.

It's Saturday, and Yuuri overslept, so he's late to practice. Viktor teases him about it at first, before he notices that Yuuri's being quieter than normal.

It's not cold outside, but it's grey, and rainy. Viktor catches himself yawning a few times through the morning, and gets himself another cup of coffee at eleven, during break. He brings one for Yuuri too, thinking maybe it's just sleep-fog keeping him withdrawn.

"Yuuri," he calls, seeing him in the stands.

Yuuri doesn't seem to hear him, sitting curled over his phone. Oh, Viktor realizes, he has his headphones in. When Viktor looks over Yuuri’s shoulder he sees he's playing music, and one of those mindlessly calming matching games that he usually pulls out when he's having a rough time.

"Yuuuri," he says, carefully bright, resting his chin on Yuuri's shoulder from behind. "I brought you something warm."

"Thanks, Viktor," Yuuri says, his smile present but distracted. He takes the coffee and holds it in his hands like he's warming himself.

In the afternoon, Yuuri starts slowly but consistently messing up on all of his jumps. Eventually, Viktor sends him off to practice the rest of his choreography, but he finds himself skating back over to check on him every ten minutes or so. Until the fourth time, when Yuuri snaps at him, before his face goes open and horrified.

"Oh no, I'm sorry, I didn't—"

Viktor laughs. "No, no, I'm sorry." He shakes his head. "I'll stop hovering, forgive me."

Yuuri smiles at him gratefully, and goes back to practicing his step sequences—what he'd been doing before Viktor interrupted. He looks calmer, doing something focused and repetitive and familiar.

After practice, while they're pulling their skates off, Mila comes up to invite them out.

"Dinner, and then maybe see where the night takes us?" she asks with a grin.

Viktor watches the way Yuuri's face goes tight and a little panicked behind his smile.

"Pass?" Viktor says apologetically. "We only have a week left before we leave for Helsinki, and with everything so busy, I'm being a little selfish my husband's time."

Mila rolls her eyes, good-natured, and says, "Fine, we don't need your grossness in public, anyway!" before going to find Evgenia.

"Thank you," Yuuri says, after a moment.

Viktor kisses him on the cheek. "Of course, miliy moi."

The drive home is quiet—Yuuri told Viktor once that too much sound can make his anxiety worse, and Viktor never forgot—but not uncomfortably so; after a few minutes, Yuuri reaches out to wrap his hand around Viktor's wrist, checking in, seeking touch to ground himself.

As soon as they get home, Yuuri takes off his shoes, drops his bag, and heads for the shower. Viktor knows without checking that he's turning the water on as hot as he can bear, pulling out his softest t-shirt (actually one of Viktor's) and loosest sweatpants. Viktor lets Makkachin out and then goes to the bedroom. He draws the curtains, turning on the bedside lamp, letting the soft yellow light diffuse into the room.

Twenty minutes later, he's sitting on the bed, scrolling through instagram on his phone, when Yuuri comes back into the room, toweling his hair dry.

"Better?" Viktor asks, and Yuuri sighs.

"A little, yeah." He drops the towel in the hamper and fidgets for a second, before asking, "Can we..."

Viktor puts down his phone and opens his arms wordlessly.

Yuuri flops onto the bed—at the foot, Makkachin lifts his head and then drops it back down sleepily—and scoots into Viktor, throwing an arm around his waist and burying his face in his shirt.Viktor feels suffused with warmth, love for this man in his every breath. "Want to talk about it?" he offers.

"No," Yuuri says quietly.

"Okay," Viktor says, sliding until he's lying down as well, his chin resting on the top of Yuuri's head.

"Your chin is so sharp," Yuuri complains.

Viktor laughs and pulls away, only for Yuuri to whine and pull him closer.

"Make your mind up," he teases, and Yuuri bites him in retaliation. "Wow!" Viktor exclaims. "If I didn't know better, I'd think you were _trying_ to rile me up."

Yuuri huffs out a laugh and burrows further into Viktor's chest.

"Yuuri."

"Mm."

"Yuuri, love, I have to shower."

" _No_."

Viktor shakes his head. "Fine, fine," he says fondly.

They lie there in silence for a few minutes before Yuuri says, muffled, hesitant, tight-voiced: "Viktor..."

Viktor looks down at the top of his husband's head. "Yes?"

"I'll be fine, right?"

The World Championship _is_ in only a little over a week, and it isn't a surprise that Yuuri's feeling the pressure. Still...

"Darling," Viktor says, as reassuring as he knows how, "I'm not worried about you _at all_."

"...really?"

He smiles. "Yep. Actually," he continues, "I'm way more worried about myself. What if I lose to Yurio again!"

"You're not worried about losing to me?" Yuuri says, peering up at him, his face tense and unsure.

"Hmm," Viktor says. "It's more that losing to you wouldn't be a _bad_ thing, you know? Really, I would prefer it."

" _Really_?" Yuuri says, disbelieving. "And you really—you really think I could—"

"Beat me?" Viktor kisses him. "Solnyshko, I'm counting on it."

Slowly, a smile blooms across Yuuri's face, and he relaxes, exhaling shakily into Viktor's collarbones.

"That tickles," Viktor remarks.

"Deal with it," Yuuri says, but obligingly turns around in Viktor's arms until they're spooning, Yuuri's back flush against Viktor's chest, their legs tangled together. Most of the time, they do this the other way around, but when Yuuri's looking for comfort, this is how they always end up.

Viktor likes this, too: being able to wrap his entire self around Yuuri, like a physical reciprocation for the way Yuuri pervades his every thought. Keeping him safe, keeping him warm, makes him feel the same.

"So you're going to win me a gold, right?" Viktor asks, kissing the back of Yuuri's neck.

Yuuri tenses up slightly, but then softens, butting his head against Viktor's chin affectionately. "I'll do my best," he says. "But don't you dare go easy on me."

Viktor smiles against his skin. "When have I ever?"

**Author's Note:**

> fun fact the press scenes were the first idea i ever had for this series!!
> 
> as always, on twitter as @peakcaps and tumblr as pageleaf if you need me :)


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